


Chance Encounter

by lovelihead



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-26 08:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelihead/pseuds/lovelihead
Summary: Chloe accidentally drunk-dials Beca from a payphone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can probably tell by the fact that I've posted two stories in less than a week that I'm procrastinating a lot of real life responsibilities right now. Yikes. These two are just on my brain.
> 
> Anyway, this story will probably have two or three chapters, we'll see where it goes.

Beca Mitchell couldn’t be more relieved when Friday evening rolls around; the week had been long and arduous. It had begun with a stressful meeting with her boss, wherein he had more or less told her she was working too slowly for the demands of the label, and it had ended with her pulling a fourteen hour shift to try and meet said demands. She was more than elated by her promotion from resident coffee slinger, burrito acquirer, and all around office lackey to being an actual respected junior producer, but it hadn’t come without its fair share of added pressure.

She had spent a combined sixty-five hours at the studio that week, working her ass off to put together a demo album in order for it to be greenlit by her boss (as well as countless hours poring over the tracks in her down time at home). Other than some minor input from her boss, and needing to get the final go ahead from him, it’s her first solo project so she’d spent the past few months absorbed in perfecting every element.

She knew this opportunity was her one shot to really prove herself; to make her mark within the industry that she had been dreaming of breaking into since she was fifteen. It was a passion project of hers, definitely, and she was thrilled to finally be given the reins to work on something with such creative control. There was something incredibly validating about having people trust your vision enough for that to even be possible.

So, there she was, twenty-one years old and producing her first album. She was living the dream, more or less.

It’s not that she feels unfulfilled, far from it, things in her life have actually transpired in ways far better than she could have ever imagined. Becoming recognised in the music industry is no easy feat, and she’d accomplished that.

She doesn’t regret not going to college, it had never been a part of her life goal. She’d discovered her love for music at a young age, and after spending countless hours sequestered in her bedroom playing with mixing equipment, creating mashups, and researching the industry, she knew exactly what she needed to do in order to make her dreams a reality. Wasting a further four years in school wasn’t a part of that plan.

Having a comparative literature professor for a father may have also intensified her disdain for the entire institution.

Despite this, she still found herself wondering what the aching, almost hollow feeling, deep in the pit of her stomach was trying to tell her. What else was there? What could she have possibly gained from college that she doesn’t already have?

She retires to bed at midnight. Alone. Only having returned from the studio thirty minutes prior to that, she had showered quickly before becoming overcome by the exhaustion of the week and passing out face down on her bed.

 

* * *

 

Beca’s awoken hours later from her slumber by the sound of her phone buzzing against the bedside table. She groans in frustration as she reaches over, without opening her eyes, to paw against the surface blindly until she successfully has a hold of the offending item.

“Hello?” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“Hey!” The voice coming through the other end of the phone is entirely too loud.

Beca’s consciousness slowly begins to catch up with her and she blinks her eyes blearily as the room gradually drifts into focus, “Who is this?” she questions dryly.

“It’s Chloe, silly,” the girl's voice sounds slurred, “I miss you,” she draws out the last syllable in a singsong manner.

“I, um,” Beca frowns, rolling onto her back as she glances at the bright, glowing red numbers of her clock to see that it’s two fifteen in the morning, “I don’t know a Chloe, I think you might have the wrong number.”

“No!” The girl exclaims, followed by a quiet squeal and then a giggle as though she’s just tripped over something, “No, no, no, of _course_ you know me, it’s _Chloe,”_ she says, as though that makes all the difference.

Beca presses her lips together firmly, staring soundly at the ceiling as she considers hanging up on this girl who has obviously drunk dialled the wrong person in the middle of the night.

But something itches inside of her when she hears the other girl speak through the phone.

“Where’d you go?” the voice questions then, panicked.

“I’m here,” Beca responds quickly, “So um, where do we know each other from again?”

There’s a long pause then, wherein all Beca can hear are the girl’s shallow breaths against the receiver and the distant sounds of traffic.

“You really don’t remember me?” she sounds sad.

“No, no,” Beca winces, the low, dejected timbre of Chloe’s voice sending a pang of guilt through her, “I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s late.”

Why was she going along with this? She should have just hung up.

“Okay,” Chloe seems to have accepted this, her tone brightening instantly. But it’s only for a short moment before she gasps, a little dramatically, “Oh no! Did I wake you up?”

Beca laughs despite herself, “Yeah, a bit. It’s after two in the morning dude.”

“Oh no,” she draws out each syllable, sounding genuinely remorseful, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Do you hate me?”

Beca licks her dry lips, sitting up slightly in bed as she responds, “No, of course not.” She reaches over and switches on her bedside lamp, letting the soft light illuminate her bedroom in an ambient glow, “Where are you?”

“I’m out at a bar, I just left actually,” Chloe says in a rush, “I came with Aubrey, do you remember Aubrey?” She doesn’t. “Anyway, she went home early and I was having such a good time I stayed, but then I realised someone had taken my bag with my phone, and my money, and I don’t know how to get home.” Beca’s brain struggles to keep up with the fast pace in which Chloe is delivering all of this information, “But someone gave me some quarters, and I found a payphone so I thought I’d call you.”

“A payphone?” Beca laughs incredulously before sobering, “Are you okay? Do you have someone who can come get you?”

“Well,” her tone is light and mischievous, “That’s kind of why I called you.”

Shit.

Beca sighs.

“I, uh, I don’t think I’m who you think I am,” she delivers slowly, apologetically

“What do you mean?” Chloe rasps, sounding perplexed.

Beca scratches at her forehead, “I tried to tell you, I think you dialled the wrong number. My name is Beca,” the cadence of her voice tilts upwards there, as though it’s a question rather than a statement. “I don’t know who you are.

“Oh, shoot,” Chloe sighs, “Beca?” she repeats her name as though she’s tasting it on her tongue, “Oh, no. I don’t have any quarters left. Why did you talk to me for such a long time?!” she sounds angry and Beca is momentarily offended.

“I’m sorry!” she replies heatedly, affronted.

There’s a slight rustling sound through the receiver, and then a sigh. It’s silent for a few moments, long enough for Beca to think Chloe had hung up on her, before she hears the girl speak again, sounding tired, “I’m sorry I snapped at you, I’m just cold and I want to go home.”

“Yeah,” Beca’s voice is rough, “This is weird, I’m sorry too.” Beca scratches at her nose before pressing on, “Where are you from? I mean – we may be on the other side of the country from each other, but if I could come get you, I…”

“Atlanta,” Chloe interrupts.

“Oh, shit, seriously?” Beca breathes, already standing up, “Me too, where are you? I’ll come…”

“No, no,” Chloe interjects, “I’ve already bothered you enough, you don’t have to. Like you said, you don’t even know me!”

Beca’s already pulling a pair of jeans up her legs though, phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder as she zips them and slides on a pair of boots, “Let me do my civic duty,” Beca says, “How would you expect me to go back to sleep knowing that you’re standing alone on some street corner with no way to get home?”

“I, uh, shoot,” Chloe fumbles with the phone audibly, “I’m almost out of minutes.”

“Where are you?” Beca questions again firmly.

There’s a quiet pause before Chloe hums into the phone, “I was at a bar in Midtown. Uh, just a second,” Chloe’s voice is further away from the receiver for a moment before she returns, “Corner of Peachtree, and 12th Street, I think.”

“Hang tight,” Beca breathes, slipping on her coat, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

 

* * *

 

It’s crazy. It’s absolutely insane. Beca’s driving into the city at two thirty in the morning to pick up someone she’d never met, who had just happened to dial her number by mistake off a _payphone._ Thankfully, due to the late hour, there aren’t many people on the road but she still takes it easy as they’d had their first snow for the season earlier that day.

She drives alongside the Botanical Gardens, before pulling off and taking a few turns until she’s slowly creeping along 12th Street. There are a few people milling about, some hovering outside bars smoking, a couple walking the street holding hands, and a girl, perched against a brick wall who is holding her face in her hands. She has vibrant red hair that hangs loosely around her face in waves, and she’s wearing thigh-high, heeled boots, and a black dress that stops just above her knees; the sleeves of which are long, but made of mesh, so she must be freezing.

Beca pulls up close to the curb alongside her, and opens the door to slide out, leaving the engine running.

“Chloe?” she enquires, reticently, causing the girl's gaze to snap upwards toward her.

“Oh,” she presses herself away from the wall quickly and stumbles forward in her heels, unsteady on her feet, “Beca?”

“Yeah,” she nods, her lips pressed together as she smiles tersely.

There’s a moment of silence where they just appraise each other. Chloe looks cold and tired, but still she’s beautiful. Her eyes are more blue than any Beca had ever seen before in her life, and she’s radiating a sort of soft, beguiling loveliness that Beca can’t look away from. She spares a second to think about how terrible she must look then, having stumbled out of bed without taking a moment to even brush her hair before she left. She runs a self-conscious hand over the back of her head as her cheeks flush crimson. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Chloe breaks the silence, lurching forward a few steps until she can reach out and grab Beca’s hands, tugging them toward her zealously. She leans in close, until there’s barely a breath of air between them and she whispers, smelling of whiskey, “Thank you, so much.” Her eyes are glowing, “I think we’re going to be really fast friends.”

Beca’s eyes flit all across Chloe’s face, from her eyes – even bluer up close – to her nose, her cheeks, and to her lips - which are currently spread into a wide, salacious grin. She licks her own lips and chuckles uncertainly, momentarily thrown by the girl’s utter disregard for personal space. “Oh yeah?” she manages, weakly.

Chloe just nods, and it’s then that Beca feels how icy the other girl’s hands are in her own, and remembers that it’s barely above freezing out.

“Here,” she pulls back suddenly, and begins shedding her own coat. “Where’s your jacket?” Beca questions, voice laced with concern as she hands her own to Chloe and watches the girl pull it over her shoulders with gratitude.

Chloe pouts adorably then, “I think someone stole it, too.”

“Come on,” Beca presses her palm lightly to Chloe’s shoulder blade as she leads her toward the passenger side of her car, “The heaters on in here, warm up.”

They slide into their respective seats and buckle up, Beca throws her beanie into the backseat, and Chloe rubs her hands together in front of the vent, yawning as she does so.

“So,” Beca poses, “Where am I taking you?”

“Oh,” Chloe visibly balks at the question, “I um, I live in Kennesaw,” she grimaces apologetically, “If it’s too far, it’s okay.”

Beca pauses for a moment thoughtfully. She glances at the clock on her dash that tells her it’s now three in the morning, and she knows that would be over a thirty-minute drive, each way.

“Do you,” she begins before pausing again, “I mean, I um, I live close by. You could stay with me tonight, if you’d like, and I can drive you home in the morning,” she pauses for a moment before tacking on hastily, “That is, if you’re comfortable with that.”

 A slow, sleepy smile oozes across Chloe’s face as she watches Beca fiddle shyly with the temperature controls on the dash. “ _You’d_ be okay with that?” She asks.

“Yeah, I mean,” Beca looks up at her with faux apprehension, “You’re not planning on like, murdering me, right?”

Chloe bursts into laughter suddenly, and the sound is so melodic and infectious that Beca smiles along, wide enough for her cheeks to ache.

“Maybe,” Chloe shrugs, looking at Beca coyly as she flutters her lashes. Then she smiles, giving Beca a look that is so sincere and full of gratitude that it makes the girl feel hot. She places a hand against Beca’s thigh and while leaning toward her, she speaks earnestly, “I would love that, thank you Beca.”

Beca has to physically shake her head to clear the feeling of paralysis that had settled over her due to Chloe’s close proximity, “Okay then,” she chokes out, before pulling away from the curb; completely missing the other girl's pleased grin as she leans away.

It’s a not a very long drive back to Beca’s apartment, fifteen minutes at the most. Chloe has begun to hum along to the song playing through the car’s sound system, and that girl can hold a tune. Beca realises, only too late, that her phone had begun to auto-play her music, and it was one of _her_ tracks, unfinished. She attempts to surreptitiously reach toward the dash in order to skip the song, but Chloe seems to sense what she’s doing and catches her wrist, smiling gently.

“I like this song,” she continues to hum along, doing a little dance, which really only consists of her slowly shimmying her shoulders and rolling her head to the beat, “Who is this?”

“Uh,” Beca grimaces, scratching at the back of her neck, “Me?”

“What?” Chloe asks, incredulously, head snapping toward her.

“Yeah, I um,” Beca begins to ramble, “It’s just a demo so it’s not very clean. I didn’t mean to play it.”

Chloe sits up in her seat, looking at Beca in wonder, “It’s _amazing,”_ she breathes, “Is this what you do?”

Beca laughs, “Yeah, I’m a music producer. I work at Residual Heat, in West End.”

Chloe nods then, “Is this you singing?”

Beca runs a hand through her messy hair, looking over to meet Chloe’s gaze as they sit at a red light, “Yeah, I sang for the demo, but there will be a different vocalist for the final product.”

Chloe tuts quietly at that before saying, “You have a lovely voice.” She then smiles and nods earnestly at Beca’s embarrassed shrug before continuing, “I was a part of an A Capella group in college, The Barden Bellas,” She quips with a smirk and a raise of her eyebrows, “You would have been so good with us.”

“Right,” Beca laughs, “That’s like, _a thing,_ now.”

“Totes,” Chloe responds dreamily, “I miss it.”

They lull into silence then, Chloe’s eyes are closed and her head is pressed back against the headrest. She looks small in Beca’s oversized, puffy coat, and her eye makeup is smudged at the corners. As they drive along, the streetlamps play across her features illuminating her face in a rhythmic way that causes shadows to dance across her tranquil expression. The corners of her mouth are quirked upward, ever so slightly, and Beca almost thinks she has fallen asleep until a quiet, mumbled voice sounds from beside her.

“Sing something for me.”

“What?” Beca asks breathily, caught off guard.

“Please,” Chloe’s voice remains low and somnolent.

Beca swallows audibly as she stares ahead, “Oh… uh, okay,” she trips over the word as she clenches her jaw and grips the steering wheel tight. Taking a deep, measured breath, she licks her lips and begins to sing softly, “I got my ticket for the long way ‘round…”

She spares a glance at Chloe’s profile, noting the gentle smile that has settled over her features. Beca continues to sing sweetly, and by the time she finishes the first chorus she notes that Chloe’s breath has steadied and her mouth is hanging open, ever so slightly, in slumber.

She smiles softly at the image, and continues the short drive home. She spares a moment to wonder how she had ended up here. How this had escalated so quickly. How she’d arrived at this point where a girl, who she’d met barely an hour ago, could ask her to jump and her response would be, ‘how high?’

Beca had never really been one to follow rules, or please people. She had definitely softened in the few years she had been working for Residual Heat, learning that if she was going to make it anywhere in this industry, and hopefully eventually make it out of Atlanta, she’d have to swallow her pride, just a little bit. But this is new for her. She ponders nineteen-year-old, ear-spiked, eye-lined Beca for a moment; considers if she would have given this girl the time of day. She imagines herself harshly telling Chloe to bite her, before hanging up and rolling over to fall back asleep.

She contemplates whether this situation she’d found herself in can be chalked up to how much she, Beca, has changed in recent years, or if it can be solely attributed to the almost overwhelmingly magnetic pull the girl in the passenger seat seems to have over her.

Either way, it’s something.

 

* * *

 

It’s barely ten minutes later when they’re pulling into Beca’s parking space outside of her apartment building. She places a gentle hand on Chloe’s shoulder, rousing her with a soft touch. “Hey,” she whispers, “We’re here.”

“Mm,” Chloe hums noncommittally in response, not opening her eyes.

Beca sighs, pulling herself up and to her feet before rounding the car until she’s at the passenger side. She opens the door and, with trepidation, runs a hand smoothly across Chloe’s shoulders. “Chloe,” she murmurs, “Come on.”

Chloe hums again, a little disapprovingly this time, as a small crease mars her brow. She begins to shift though, with a gentle pull from Beca, until she has swung her feet out and is standing up, albeit precariously. With Chloe resting her body heavily against Beca, they begin to shuffle forward slowly. Beca has one arm wrapped around the girl’s waist, and she pushes the car door closed and juggles her keys with the other. Chloe’s hunched over slightly and has her face pressed against Beca’s neck as she’s lead toward the entryway of the building.

“Come on sleepyhead,” Beca speaks breathlessly into her hair.  

It’s not easy getting Chloe through the door and up a flight of stairs when she can barely lift her feet half an inch off the ground, but they make it finally. Leading the girl toward her couch, she pulls the coat from her shoulders before gently sitting her down.

“I’ll be right back,” Beca assures as she watches Chloe sink backwards into the cushions.

She pulls a pillow from her own bed, and a blanket from her hall closet before adjourning to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water. When she rounds back into her living room, she sees that Chloe is exasperatedly trying to pull her boots off, her lips pouting with heavy-eyed frustration.

“Here,” Beca places all of the items she had recovered on the coffee table before tapping Chloe’s wrist, causing her to fall backwards once more. Beca tugs on her boots and sets them beside the couch before she hands Chloe the pillow and unfurls the blanket.

Chloe shifts so she’s laying lengthways on the couch, smiling peacefully as Beca drapes the blanket over her.

“The bathroom is over there,” Beca gestures, “And I brought you some water. If you need anything, I’m just through the door at the end of the hall.”

Chloe’s eyes flutter gratefully as she watches Beca through her lashes for a moment. Then, suddenly, she has a fist clenched tightly in the front of Beca’s t-shirt and she’s tugging firmly. Beca doubles over, mostly in surprise, until their faces are almost close enough to touch – not for the first time that evening. Beca is still reeling from the movement, and the warm breath fanning across her cheeks, when Chloe presses a brief, albeit gentle, kiss to her lips. It’s barely more than a friendly peck, but still, Beca’s entire body flushes from head to toe.  She feels hot all over, like molten lava is oozing down her spine and through all of her limbs.

“Thank you,” Chloe smiles before releasing her and falling back into the pillow with a hum.

Before Beca’s brain has even caught up or processed any of the feelings coursing through her, Chloe is asleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back. Sorry, this took a little while longer than I expected, I got really busy last month. I'm on break now so I'm hoping I'll have more time to write! I thought this was going to be the final chapter of this but, as it turns out, there's going to be a little more to this story. Thank you for reading, enjoy! xx

Despite the exhaustion that had permeated through every inch of her soul earlier that evening, Beca struggles to fall asleep. She lays in bed for hours, the soft glow from a streetlamp radiating through her window illuminates her bedroom as she stares at the ceiling, wide awake. Her thoughts run circles through her brain as she tosses from side to side.

 

She thinks about the unexpected two am phone call and Chloe’s voice; drunken, soft, and slightly distorted from the prehistoric payphone line. She thinks about seeing her; about her softness, her brightness, her loveliness. She thinks about her hair, shining, cascading gently over her shoulders, soft and sweet; the colour reminding her of maple syrup, or of the inside of a peach. She thinks about her eyes, twinkling mischievously, coyly, enrapturing her with a single look. She thinks about her rosy cheeks, flushed from the cold, or the alcohol – Beca can’t be sure. About her smile, about her hands grasping her own, her warm whiskey-laden breath, the quiet cadence of her voice – real, quiet, intimate, almost pressed against her lips.

 

She thinks about that brief, heart stopping moment where a quiet hum _had_ been pressed against her lips.

 

She thinks about how fucked she is.

 

Beca’s not this type of person, she doesn’t crush, she doesn’t pine. She certainly doesn’t pick up strangers off the street and bring them into her home either, and yet...

 

At one point, around four thirty, she ventures into the kitchen for a glass of water. Taking a completely unnecessary detour through the living room she lets her eyes linger on Chloe’s form, nestled comfortably on the couch, as she hovers in the doorway. It’s dark, but Beca can still discern her soft features from halfway across the room. Her body is turned toward her, expression peaceful. Her hands are grasping loosely at the pillow beside her face and her chest rises and falls steadily with her deep breaths.

 

Beca spares a moment to think about how creepy she’s being. This is probably one of the exact reasons why you shouldn’t accept rides from strangers or sleep on their couch.

 

Because you might wake up to find a creepy little 5’2” stalker watching you from a shadow.

 

She shakes her head at herself before pushing off the doorframe and returning to her bedroom to hopefully get some sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep does come, eventually, and when she wakes just before seven thirty she approximates she’s had about three hours. Still, the early morning sun streams through her window and the idea of getting any more than that seems futile so she drags herself to her feet and sleepily ambles through to the bathroom to wash her face.

 

 She tries to be as quiet as possible when she wanders toward the living room. Chloe’s still asleep, on her back now with one arm hanging limply off the edge of the couch along with half of the blanket. Beca feels momentarily guilty about Chloe’s state of dress, noting that she’s still wearing her uncomfortable looking mesh outfit. It’s twisted awkwardly on her body, no doubt from turning in her sleep, and Beca’s eyes trail across her jawbone, and downward.

 

The expanse of skin over her clavicle is covered by mesh that turns to solid black material across her chest. It’s been tugged lower throughout the night, twisted off-centre so that the upper edge of her lacy black bra is visible just beyond the seam separating the gossamer material from the rest of the dress. Beca watches her for a moment, feeling like a lustful teenager; hot and flustered, and decidedly appalled by herself.

 

And it’s when she’s just about to turn away and go put on a pot of coffee (honestly) that Chloe’s eyes slowly, blearily drift open and settle on Beca’s face. Her eyebrows pull together slightly as she blinks a few times. Whether she’s surprised about her surroundings, the strange girl staring at her, or the entire situation – Beca can’t tell.

 

She feels hot and embarrassed, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

 

“Hi. I, uh,” Beca falters, “I wasn’t, just, you know…,” she puts a hand to her forehead briefly before shaking her head. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

 

“No,” Chloe’s voice is hoarse and she has to clear her throat before she continues, “You didn’t,” she sits up.

 

Beca watches her for a long, quiet moment as Chloe’s eyes drift around the room slowly, absorbing her surroundings.

 

“How are you feeling?” Beca’s tone is sympathetic.

 

“Oh,” Chloe stretches her arms above her head as she smiles sleepily, “I feel fine.”

 

Beca hums, eyes twinkling as she rolls them good-naturedly, “So you’re one of _those_.”

 

Chloe cocks her head to the side curiously before questioning, “One of those what?”

 

Pressing her body away from the doorframe she’s leant against, Beca wanders through the living room, swallowed in a grey hoodie and sweats that are too long for her legs. She perches herself on the arm of the couch by Chloe’s feet, and smiles softly.

 

“One of those people who never gets hangovers.”

 

Chloe laughs brightly, too brightly for seven thirty in the morning, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

 

Beca presses her tongue against the back of her teeth as they lull into a comfortable silence.

 

“You have a really nice home, “Chloe finally says, pulling herself to her feet and tugging her skirt down from where it had ridden up slightly, “I especially love this…”

 

She has wandered over toward a low-standing shelving unit that spreads along the entire wall behind the couch and is trailing her fingertips along the polished wood. It reaches hip height, and within it must be shelved hundreds of records. On top sits a vintage looking turntable as well as four different types of headphones and some speakers.

 

“Oh, yeah, I um…” Beca falters for a moment when she watches Chloe bend down slightly to dance her fingertips over the edges of the record sleeves, “I collect them, I guess.”

 

A quiet inhale sounds from across the room, as Chloe pinches one of them between her fingers and stands up straight. When she turns around, Beca can see that her face is stretched into a wide playful grin, eyes twinkling with mirth.

 

She holds the cover up in front of her, close to her chest, and bites her lip, “ _The Sign?”_

Beca flushes, shaking her head as she fights the self-conscious smile taking over her face, “Shut up,” she laughs, “I got it from a clearance section for like five dollars.”

 

“ _You_ shut up,” Chloe points a quasi-menacing finger at her and shoots her a pointed look, “I love them, _Ace of Base_ was my first concert ever!”

 

“Of course it was,” Beca bites at her lip, trying to keep the smirk at bay.

 

Chloe nods and emits a single, proud hum, before she settles her inquisitive, sparkling gaze on Beca.

 

“So, Miss Music Producer,” her tongue peeks out playfully through her teeth, “What was yours?”

 

Beca laughs breathily and shakes her head before pressing her tongue into her cheek and running it along the front of her teeth as she rolls her eyes. Her squirming makes it appear as though relinquishing this type of information is almost painful for her, “ _Three Days Grace.”_

“No way,” Chloe looks scandalized.

 

“Yes way,” Beca responds coolly, “I had a whole thing going on. Heavy eyeliner, spiked ear piercings… I was fifteen and I snuck out to go to an eighteen plus event. I was kind of a badass,” her delivery is deadpan and she shrugs nonchalantly.

 

Chloe is watching her with delighted shock, “You must have been so tiny!”

 

“Hey!” Beca gasps, looking offended for a brief moment before her expression melts again and she purses her lips, “I mean, I did almost get crushed in the mosh pit, but that’s beside the point.”

 

Chloe laughs at that, a low playful giggle that sets Beca’s insides on fire long before the next words she speaks even have a chance to.

 

“Mm, I did always have a thing for bad girls.”

 

It’s so nonchalant, so flippant that Beca almost thinks she’s misheard her. It takes her brain a few seconds to even catch up, and when it does her cheeks burn hot and something clenches and sparkles deep inside of her.

 

She’s lost in her own thoughts, replaying those words again when Chloe shoots her a pointed look over her shoulder from where she’s stooped over, placing the record carefully back where she found it.

 

“Huh?” Beca exhales dumbly.

 

“Thank you again for last night,” she stands back up and rests her hip against the shelf, “I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t come get me.”

 

“Oh,” Beca scratches at her temple, “No problem. Anytime.”

 

She winces at that.

 

Chloe watches her, smirking slightly as Beca squirms uncomfortably under her gaze.

 

“Should we uh,” Beca fumbles, “Do you want to go?” There’s a beat of silence where Chloe’s smile falters, almost imperceptibly, but Beca feels the slight shift and stumbles over her words to tack on, “We could get a coffee on the way?”

 

Chloe brightens again, “That would be great!” she pushes away from the shelf and takes a few steps toward Beca, “Do you mind if I wash up first?”

 

“Yeah - yes, of course,” Beca stands up quickly, gesturing toward the bathroom, “There’s an extra toothbrush in the top drawer. Do you want to borrow something warmer to wear?”

 

Chloe glances downward and tugs on the bottom of her dress, “I’d love that.”

 

As she walks around the couch and by where Beca is standing, Chloe brushes her hand against Beca’s and squeezes it gently, just once, as she passes by.

 

Beca doesn’t move until the sound of the bathroom door slamming closed knocks her out of her haze.

 

* * *

 

 

“I sure owe you, don’t I?” Chloe smiles at Beca from across the table.

 

They’re sitting in a corner booth at a small diner. It’s an eclectic spot, full of potted plants that sit on window ledges and hang from the ceiling. Paintings by local artists inhabit much of the empty space on the expansive brick walls and the back half of the room, not filled with tables, is open and lined with shelves upon shelves of records.

 

Beca had taken the liberty of ordering them coffee and some breakfast.

 

“No sweat,” she shrugs, relishing in the warmth from her mug of coffee against her fingertips, “You really should call your bank today though and cancel your credit cards.”

 

Chloe hums in agreement as she tears at a pancake with her fork.

 

Beca watches Chloe for a moment over the rim of her coffee mug as she basks in the steam washing over her face. She had lent her a long sleeved black thermal top, as well as some black leggings and a black and red plaid coat that was folded up and placed beside her. Her hair was still loose, hanging around her face in waves and bouncing off her shoulders delicately as she spoke. She’d washed all of her make up off and now sat across from her fresh-faced; somehow looking brighter and glowing more than anyone should be allowed to the day after being as intoxicated as she had been.

 

“This is a cute place,” Chloe gestures around with her fork as she licks maple syrup from her lips.

 

Beca places her coffee mug down and says, “Yeah, this is where I come get a lot of my records from, and it’s a nice spot to sit and work.”

 

Chloe nods enthusiastically, “Yes! Tell me more about what you do!”

 

“Hold on,” Beca grins and cocks her head to the side, “I think you’ve got enough out of me already. I don’t know anything about you yet.”

 

Chloe leans back, smiling coyly as she pinches the tip of her tongue between her teeth, “Alright,” she shrugs, quirking an eyebrow, “What do you want to know?”

 

“What do you do?”

 

“Well,” Chloe taps her fingers against her coffee mug thoughtfully, “I’m kind of between things right now. I graduated from Barden with a degree in music, so at the moment I’m teaching vocal lessons a few nights a week and working as a barista. I’m applying to go back and do my masters in the spring.”

 

“Oh wow,” Beca exhales, eyebrows raising in surprise, “I know you said about the a capella thing but I assumed it was just a hobby for you.”

 

“It was, at first,” Chloe nods, “But it became really important to me. I actually changed my major to music in my sophomore year because of how dedicated I became to that group.”

 

Chloe picks up a strawberry from her plate and bites into it, humming as she wipes her fingers on a napkin.

 

“I want to teach music,” she continues, “The only time I really got a chance to lead The Bellas was in my senior year, and even though we didn’t have the best season I still had so much fun. It was so rewarding to watch the girls grow as singers and performers,” a whimsical smile has settled over her features as she sighs, “That’s what I want to feel all of the time.”

 

“That’s actually…” Beca nods slowly, “Really cool.”

 

Referring to collegiate a capella as ‘really cool’ wasn’t something Beca ever expected to come out of her mouth, but there was something about the obvious love and passion exuding through Chloe’s words that made Beca feel an almost familiar warmth radiate through her own chest. It was something she recognised in her own self whenever she mixed the perfect track, or created the perfect beat. And really, at the end of the day, music was music; a universal language. She understood it.

 

“Totes!” Chloe’s face splits into a broad grin, nose crinkling as her expression quickly turns conspiratorial and she reaches across the table to pull at Beca’s hand, “Come on,” she bites at her bottom lip, “Let’s go look at the records!”

 

Beca’s smile is bashful as she allows herself to be led toward the back of the diner. She tries not to think about how sweaty her hand feels where Chloe has their fingers laced together.

 

Chloe doesn’t let go until they’re in front of a section titled ‘ _Jazz Blues’_ and she begins sifting through the sleeves.   

 

“What’s your favorite band?” Chloe asks without looking up from the B.B. King vinyl she’s perusing.

 

Realising then that she’s been standing motionless behind her for an odd length of time, Beca quickly jolts herself into action to join Chloe in flicking through the records.

 

“That’s a terrible thing to ask a music producer,” she ribs.

 

Chloe chuckles and clicks her tongue, shooting her a pointed look, “Come on, please?”

 

Beca ponders for a moment, “Okay,” she huffs, rounding the shelves suddenly. She returns a few moments later holding a sleeve in her hand, looking down at it as she speaks, “Choosing a favorite of _all time_ is just, like… not possible, but, I’ve really been into Frank Turner lately so…”

 

Chloe holds her hand out expectantly and Beca hands it over.

 

“What’s yours?” Beca shuffles her feet self-consciously as Chloe studies the record, “And please don’t say Ace of Base.”

 

Chloe’s mouth drops open in offense before she pouts adorably, swatting the back of her hand against Beca’s arm, “ _No,_ ” the corners of her lips twitch upwards, “They are amazing though.”

 

Beca raises an eyebrow in response.

 

“It’s so hard to choose just one!” Chloe tucks the Frank Turner record under her arm and looks toward the ceiling thoughtfully.

 

“And yet, you made _me_ choose one,” Beca rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

 

In return, Chloe pokes her tongue out in jest, “I like anything I can dance to!”

 

“That’s not an answer,” Beca pauses, “So you dance _and_ sing?”

 

“Duh,” Chloe laughs, “If you’re performing at the ICCA’s you can’t just _stand around,_ ” her face morphs into a grimace, as though even the mere notion is offensive enough to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

 

“Wait,” Beca’s eyes widen, “I was picturing some boring nerdy choir type deal, you’re telling me you _dance_ while you sing?!”

 

Chloe nods.

 

“Like choreographed performances? Full on Britney in Vegas style?” Beca has a bemused smile on her face, “ _Wow_ , that’s…”

 

Chloe’s chuckling, tongue peeking between her teeth coquettishly as she continues to sift through the records leisurely.

 

“What?” Chloe asks innocently, almost impishly, as she slides a record out from the shelf, “Does the thought of it have you all…”

 

And she doesn’t finish her sentence, but suddenly she’s holding a record half in front of her face, head cocked to the side mischievously as she attempts to fight the grin slowly taking over her expression.

 

Duke Ellington’s Orchestra’s _Hot and Bothered_ is what Chloe is watching her from behind and it takes Beca’s mind a few long seconds to catch up before her cheeks are burning red.

 

“ _Dude_ ,” she splutters, “No I, _God,_ I didn’t mean _that_ … _”_

Chloe tips her head back and her peal of laughter is so loud and carefree that Beca can’t help but smile and laugh along with her, cheeks still flushed.

 

“You weirdo,” she groans, still laughing despite herself, “I’m sorry I don’t know what you a capella nerds _do_.”

 

Chloe’s grinning as she shuffles backward along the shelving, fingers trailing along the edges of the vinyl as she eyes them.

 

Cocking her head to the side, she plucks another off the shelf. Her eyes twinkle roguishly when she meets Beca’s gaze again, “I’m sorry if I got you…”

 

Beca rolls her eyes at the _All Shook Up_ Elvis Presley single she’s holding up in front of her salacious grin.

 

Ignoring Beca’s amused sigh and the shake of her head, Chloe twirls playfully in a circle on her way to the other side of the aisle. After a moment, she turns and waves Britney Spears’ _Oops I did it Again_ in front of her with a quasi-apologetic shrug and a patronisingly self-satisfied faux grimace.

 

Beca almost can’t fight the smirk back now.

 

She’s feeling hot, amused, embarrassed, and about a million other things that she can’t quite decipher. Watching Chloe dance along the aisle and flick through the records with a newfound sense of purpose causes a strange, and yet not entirely unpleasant, sparkling feeling to alight deep within her chest. She can’t help but think that this girl is deriving some sort of sick pleasure from making her squirm.

 

She’s proven correct when Chloe’s eyes widen and her lips twist to the side, almost inquiringly, as she tugs Bon Jovi’s _Slippery When Wet_ off the shelf and shimmies her shoulders lewdly.

 

The feeling intensifies and burns brighter, like a firework has been sparked and is rattling against her ribcage.

 

“God,” Beca’s face is flushed again and she can actually feel the tips of her ears burning like they’ve been dipped in molten lava. “You know what, I don’t even want to know what that means,” she chokes out.

 

Chloe winks and then holds up her hands in defeat, apparently becoming an elective mute as she attempts to placate Beca with her apologetic gaze.

 

Beca has to press her lips together to impede the bewildered smile that’s tickling the corner of her lips.

 

After raising a single index finger, as though to say ‘ _Just a second’,_ Chloe disappears around to the other side of the shelving and Beca is left alone. Her cheeks are still burning hot and she takes the few moments of solitude to breathe and reclaim her composure.

 

It’s difficult to accomplish when she’s fully aware that whatever game Chloe is playing isn’t over yet.

 

Feeling as though the butterflies dancing in her stomach are threatening to flutter up her windpipe and suffocate her at any given moment, she smiles and rests her flushed cheek against the cool metal of the shelving.

 

It’s a short lived reprieve; she’s jolted out of her dreamy haze by the flurry of red hair and twinkling blue eyes that’s rounding the corner.

 

Chloe has a stack of records pressed against her chest. She’s biting her lip and watching Beca earnestly as she stops right in front of her.

 

Beca musters up just enough cool to raise a lone, inquisitive eyebrow.

 

Looking downward, Chloe takes stock of the records in her hands before pulling one up and holding it out.

 

 _I’m Sorry_ by The Neighbourhood.

 

Beca chuckles and then quickly reins in her expression to give a concise nod, as though to say, ‘ _Forgiven.’_

Chloe’s smile brightens and she sifts through the rest to raise another one.

 

 _Thank you_ by Dido.

 

She gestures back toward their table and twirls her finger in a circle before attempting to make the hand gesture for a heart. With her arms full of vinyl, it doesn’t really work too well, but Beca gets the picture and smiles.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

The next record she holds up is _Little Woman You’re So Sweet_ by Shakey Vick and Beca attempts to hide her blush behind an eye roll and a surreptitious scratch of her nose. If the way Chloe’s smile broadens is any indication, she doesn’t succeed.

 

With a coy bite of her lip, _I think You’re Cute_ by The Johnny’s comes next.

 

The butterflies setting off fireworks in Beca’s stomach return with a vengeance.

 

After a brief pause, Chloe tucks it back behind the others and holds out _Do You Like Me_ by Spargo. Her smile is more subdued now, closed lipped, but still soft and endearing. Holding up one hand in a questioning gesture, she tilts her head to the side and watches Beca’s face with an almost burning degree of scrutiny.  

 

In all honesty, Beca isn’t entirely sure how to concisely summarise her feelings for Chloe.

 

‘ _Like’_ feels a bit underwhelming.

 

Chloe is unreal. Confident, unashamed, bold, and not to mention ridiculously attractive. Beca has known the girl for less than twelve hours and already feels simultaneously both emotionally invigorated, and exhausted; like she’s been repeatedly dipped into hot water and wrung out to dry. She’s not entirely accustomed to the feeling. Experiencing ‘crushes’ wasn’t really in her wheelhouse, if that is what this was.

 

Again. Feelings, emotions? Not her bag.

 

Beca can’t even really remember the last time she had a crush, or really felt much attraction to anyone at all.

 

She has always prided herself on her wit and nonchalance; on her ability to box off her emotions, shut people out, and get her shit done without allowing people to get too close. All whilst remaining charming as hell. And maybe that sounds sad, but it’s worked for her so far in life.

 

So, suffice to say, this was a foreign feeling for her.

 

Glancing up from where she’s been eyeing the cover of the vinyl, she meets Chloe’s gaze and is immediately struck by how middle school the whole thing is. She has known this girl for less than a day and they’re in a record store playing some bizarre game like they’re two awkward preteens.

 

Well, Beca is acting like an awkward preteen and Chloe is most definitely the beautiful, preppy cheerleader type who could shatter hearts with a well-timed hair flip.

 

Regardless, the whole interaction feels spontaneous, shiny, and new; almost as though she’s younger again, and not as jaded (even though Beca will argue that she came out of the womb cynical). It feels as though simply being in Chloe’s presence is enough to chip away at the protective frosted sheath that had chambered her heart long ago.

 

Beca smiles coyly, and then heat rises to her cheeks a she comes to a realisation.

 

Oh god, they’re _flirting._ Chloe is _flirting_ with her.

 

And Beca _loves_ it.

 

She briefly wonders whether the mental journey she had traversed has showed on her face. She figures it probably would have been hard to miss, even if Chloe hadn’t been watching her like a hawk.

 

Taking a breath, Beca nods bashfully; a movement so small it’s almost imperceptible. Chloe must have seen it though, because her face melts into a slow, lazy smile, that oozes across her features.

 

A few moments of bright-eyed, smile-filled silence passes between them before Beca steps forward and takes some of the records from Chloe’s arms as she rolls her eyes, “Come on, we need to get out of here before you cheese this place up any more.”

 

* * *

 

 

After paying the bill and ordering two more coffees to go, they’re on their way to Chloe’s place.

 

Somehow, at some point, Chloe had sweet talked Beca into playing some of her current mixes on the drive. Which really wouldn’t have been so strange if Beca wasn’t so fiercely protective and reserved about sharing her work. Even her best friend Jesse hardly ever heard what she was working on until it was polished to perfection and okayed by her boss first.

 

For the most part Chloe listens in silence, bobbing her head along to the beat and throwing out a few random compliments whenever she feels particularly moved by a beat drop, or lyric.

 

“You know,” Beca says, hand gripped tight against the steering wheel, “If my boss knew I was showing you this I’d probably get _so_ fired.”

 

Beca watches out of her periphery as Chloe turns to look at her with an unreadable expression.

 

Then, suddenly, she’s reaching out and tucking a stray piece of hair behind Beca’s ear, fingertips lingering a little longer than necessary against her cheek. Beca’s skin burns from the contact and a hot flush radiates all the way down her chest.

 

“I guess it’ll be our little secret then,” Chloe coos, almost huskily, before withdrawing and running a hand through her own hair messily.

 

Yeah, showing her some unreleased tracks was nothing. Beca would undoubtedly follow this girl into the depths of hell if she asked nicely. Gratefully.

 

Her brain feels as though it has short circuited, and she hasn’t yet recovered from it when Chloe unexpectedly chimes, “Turn right up here,” a few seconds later; her voice and demeanour so starkly different that is almost gives Beca whiplash. It causes her to miss the turn altogether.

 

“Thank you again, Beca,” Chloe says earnestly when they’re pulled up outside of her house a few minutes later. In an uncharacteristic moment of shyness, she plucks at the plastic lid of her coffee cup with a fingernail as she watches Beca through her lashes, “I know it’s been a, uh, weird and unexpected day, but I’m really glad I met you.”

 

Beca smiles back at her and nods, “Me too.”

 

They lull into a comfortable silence, neither of them feeling a desire to part ways just yet.

 

Beca breaks the moment shortly after when she opens the centre console and procures a pen.

 

“Here,” she murmurs as she reaches over to grasp Chloe’s coffee cup and begins scribbling something along the side.

 

Chloe just watches her in silence for a moment before Beca hands her paper cup back, which now has a phone number scrawled across it.

 

“This is for if you ever want to call me, you know, on purpose.”

 

Chloe trails her eyes over Beca’s messy handwriting for a few long seconds before she smiles at her and swoops in to place a quick peck to her cheek. Chloe’s lips rest against the same place her fingers had trailed across earlier and Beca feels the warmth flare beneath her skin once again.

 

She’s completely aware of how obvious it is, too, when Chloe leans away, eyes twinkling blithely whilst they trace her flushed jawline and clavicle. Damn her for being so pale.

 

“Okay, well,” she breathes, feeling hot from both Chloe’s gaze, and the lingering ghost of soft lips against her cheek, “Not at two in the morning this time though, please?”

 

Chloe chuckles and grimaces apologetically as she reaches for the door handle and steps out. Bending at the waist, she stoops down to look through the open window, “Talk to you soon, Beca.”

 

Beca nods dumbly before raising her hand in a mock salute.

 

She shakes her head at herself after Chloe has turned around and is walking up her driveway.

 

Once Chloe has her front door open, she throws a wave over her shoulder and blows a kiss toward the car before disappearing inside.

 

Only then does Beca decompress. Her forehead falls against the steering wheel, and she rests it there as she groans.

 

She’s _so_ screwed.  

           

                       


End file.
